


The Cardinal Rule

by undead_violets



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Angst, F/F, Fluff, No Smut, and guilt for pining, bride kiyoko, but like a lot of pining, but that’s not a focal point, daichi pining for his best friend, i love suga so much and it shows, lightly based on the 2001 movie The Wedding Planner but hopefully the characters are less horrible, no beta we die like men, tanaka and nishinoya supportive bridesmaids, they're my kins and i get to make them the most likeable characters in the fic, wedding planner yachi, yachi has anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26885638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undead_violets/pseuds/undead_violets
Summary: Yachi Hitoka has been a wedding planner for five years, and frankly she’s doing fairly well. She enjoyed her job, she was organized, she got along well with the people she worked alongside. There was nothing about the occupation that stood out to her as dangerous; that was, until she met Shimizu Kiyoko.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, a lot of ships here and there
Comments: 22
Kudos: 38





	1. if i'm a spinster for the rest of my life my arms will keep me warm on cold and lonely nights

**Author's Note:**

> hiii so i had a lot of things i wanted to put in the tags before i realized i didn’t have that much space so i’m gonna clarify some things here!  
> \- i am not a wedding planner so i’m gonna need you to bear with me if it is ever incredibly inaccurate  
> \- this fic is not straight up cheating i promise i need you to trust me  
> \- i try not to write characters heavily fanon but like if they’re a little out of character forgive me  
> \- this is my first fanfiction since sixth grade so this is gonna be a roller coaster but hopefully it will not be poorly written, just a bit wild  
> please enjoy yachi and her adventures of a deeply anxious wedding planner!!  
> also trigger warning— there is vague description of a panic attack, but it is well-handled and brief. this will be a recurring theme throughout the story, so if that's a problem you might want to skip this one, i'm sorry!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter/title name: [>tire swing by kimya dawson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3klPdAy-nQ<br)

“Yes sir, I am certain the caterer will be on time,” Yachi assured politely, muting her microphone for a moment to swear under her breath. 

Though he certainly was not her first groomzilla, and she was sure he would not be her last, Yachi could not say she was particularly happy to endure Daishou Suguru either way. Even after a solid four years of independent wedding planning, she was unused to the stress of a wedding day. 

When Yachi graduated with her vague hospitality management degree, she was generally certain she would prefer to go into a field related to planning and design. Wedding planning simply came easily to her; she was raised on design and aesthetics, she could do the reception thing with her eyes closed. When she decided to take this on as a career, the idea of putting up with brides and grooms from all around Tokyo frankly had not quite hit her fully. Of course it got easier over time, of course it was too late to stop now, but sometimes she debated reconsidering her choices. That was how powerful Daishou-san’s attitude was.

She put him on speaker as she gathered papers from around her bedroom which, admittedly, was far more cluttered than it should have been. Normally, she had a sort of order to her chaos; it was never something she had a problem with. 

Well, never is clearly a strong word.

She murmured a mixture of ‘mm-hmm’, ‘sure’, and the occasional ‘of course’ as she searched rather frantically for the guest list. Of course she would lose it today. Of course it would be right now, four hours before the wedding, an hour and a half before she was meant to be at the reception to ensure everything would be in order. Everything was not in order and to Yachi, this was not a small impediment; it was a flaw in her plan. A flaw in her plan meant setbacks, time wasted, and way too many apologies-- and when there’s way too many apologies, people get annoyed and then there’s more apologies and even more annoyance. Yachi could not put up with that today.

Here is how it would go: The guest list is missing. Yachi searches frantically for the guest list, so frantic in fact, that she searches for an hour and only has thirty minutes to get ready. If, by chance, she somehow manages to get ready this fast, she still is missing a guest list. Yachi gets to the reception, albeit a bit later than planned, and she attempts to work through the missing document. She gets all else done, then the guests start arriving. She welcomes everyone in, not being able to double check anything, and all is going well until three teenagers get drunk off of champagne and their parents aren’t there because they weren’t invited and now there’s police and they’re pressing to know who let these children in without supervision so close to free alcohol. Yachi is the one who let them in. They arrest her and decide that they might as well just put her in prison. God knows Yachi can’t last in prison-- she dies twelve days in and then-

The guest list is on the counter in the kitchen.

“I’m not going to prison!”

“What does that mean! Are you even listening?” Daishou demanded impatiently.

“Oh I am so terribly, terribly sorry sir, I was looking for the-” she cut herself off, knowing high-maintenance brides and grooms did not take kindly to being made aware of any sort of disorder in their weddings. “The shoes I am going to wear to the wedding, sir! I’m so sorry, they were uh- they were under the-”

“Quite frankly I could not care less where your shoes were. My wedding is today and you are not paying any attention to my concerns! My fiancee is not picking up my calls and I can’t go find her because it’s bad luck to see her today. I need you to get her. Her bridesmaids are useless in these things.”

Yachi ground her teeth quietly and sucked in a breath, willing herself to be professional. It wasn’t his fault that he was being condescending, surely he was just stressed about his big day. “I will seek Yamaka-san out, I’m sure she’s at her apartment or just double checking things at the reception, sir.” 

“Well, in any case, please get to it.”

-

Yachi had been smiling and nodding politely for an impressive thirty minutes before the mother of the bride decided to take her leave. Her cheeks ached, her legs were getting weaker by the moment, and she had drained only one glass of alcohol since her arrival six hours previous. The only redeemable aspect of Yachi’s life in the moment was the fact that she had chosen to wear practical flats to this wedding, knowing just how long the bride and groom anticipated it would be. She trudged carefully to the bar, where she promptly slumped into a bar stool next to a certain artificial blonde person, chewing on their thumbnail and watching their feet.

“Did you forget your PSP?” Yachi asked quietly, as to refrain from overwhelming or startling him.

Kozume looked up calmly, demonstrating for her that he was not startled by her arrival. He tucked a strand of hair, strayed from his ponytail, behind his ear and gave Yachi a faint lip-raise that she recognized to be a kind greeting from him. “It broke down recently. Kuroo said he would get it fixed before my next shift, but it was too last minute for this one,” Kozume mumbled, eying the floor again.

“How is Kuroo doing?” Yachi folded her hands in her lap, voice low. It was an instinct around him- matching his tone and energy. “Still dense as a brick wall?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Kozume replied, though their flush was glowing like an exit sign.

“So both of you, I guess,” Yachi smiled. “The food was wonderful by the way- that’s how I knew you’d be here!”

She could have been hallucinating, but Yachi was fairly sure that Kozume’s blush got deeper. “Thank you, Yachi.” He replied sincerely. 

“Could I get a glass of white wine?” Yachi asked the bartender, who had discreetly approached as she and Kozume had been speaking. With a nod, they found the bottle and poured some for her. “I’ve been here for way too long.”

“Oh, I’m sure. I’ve only been here for two hours and I feel like I might pass out from the sheer amount of people.” 

“I understand that, I will never understand how I convinced myself to take on a job that requires so much conversation,” Yachi said, yawning into her palm. She was going to go home and bury herself in blankets after this wedding- that was if she didn’t end dying of exhaustion before she got there. 

Though she knew it was ridiculous, the thought seemed plausible at that moment. She had been planning this wedding for eight months; while even thinking about eight months felt long, Yachi knew that it was longer than she could process. She could practically relive the aching boredom of constant ramblings from the groom, convincing the bride that a custom made gown would not fit their budget, reminding the in-laws that it was not their wedding. It was nearly identical every time, but varying enough in many ways that it kept Yachi’s attention.

Kenma gazed at Yachi hopefully. “Have you heard from Yamaguchi lately?”

“I have actually! We’re meant to meet up for coffee this week. Why do you ask?” Yachi smiled fondly at the thought of her best friend. They tried their best to meet up for coffee once a week, and they do whatever they can to fit in a few other hangouts besides those each month. 

“Well, we have a mutual friend from high school who is having a wedding soon, and Shoyo is taking me. You know a lot about weddings and I really don’t want to embarrass myself, just for Shoyo’s sake. I know he wants to impress them. Do you have any tips?” Kenma looked a little flustered at having to speak so much, let alone to ask for tips, but Yachi understood. Though it wasn’t the same as autism, her anxiety prevented her from knowing exactly what to do at certain events. This was something she knew and something he needed to be sure about. 

“I’m sure you know the basic basics from catering, so I’ll give you some inside tips. Always carry a plate of food or a glass of wine. It’s an easy way to fill the time if someone is speaking for too long and you don’t want to maintain full eye-contact with them. Use Shoyo as an excuse whenever you need to, and if he’s talking too much, announcing that you would like to have a word with the bride or groom is always a safe bet, because they’ll feel bad taking away from the stars of the wedding. Wear shoes that are comfortable and most importantly, go home if you need to. Anyone who is close to you will understand.” 

Kenma looked at her gratefully. She knew it was hard for them to attend big events, but Hinata was one of his closest friends and clearly this meant a lot to the redhead. Kenma tucked back a strand of hair that was still somewhat blond, but mostly dark roots. “I really appreciate it, Yachi. Has anyone ever told you you’re very good at advice? It’s-”

He was cut off by the bride’s sweet and deeply intoxicated voice, “Yachi! Yachi, I’ve been looking for you everywhere- thank God you’re still here!”

Kenma gave Yachi an apologetic look as they quickly picked up a glass of what looked to be just coca cola and took a brief leave. Yachi sighed shallowly, but understood why they needed to go and couldn’t hold it against them.

“Yes, Yamaka-san?”

“Oh wouldn’t you please call me Yamaka? Just on my wedding day?” Yamaka begged Yachi, cheeks flushed and updo slightly dishevelled.

“Oh of course, Yamaka-sa- I mean Yamaka. Is there something you needed me for?”

Yamaka pouted as she spoke to Yachi again. “Can’t I just want to talk to my favorite ever wedding planner who is so wonderful and-and amazing?”

Yachi grimaced at the phrasing, very obviously that of a drunk woman who has messed something up and is hoping for forgiveness. “Yamaka-san is there something wrong? That definitely makes it sound like something is wrong, please tell me what it is.”

Yamaka frowned, face full of barely-hidden remorse. “Daishou and I knocked down one of the rented statues outside,” she murmured, just loud enough for Yachi to hear. “Maybe two.”

Yachi looked at Yamaka wide-eyed with a strained smile. It took a moment for the panic to fully set in, but by the time it did, the familiar pinch in her throat set in as well. She willed a trembling hand to grip the bar counter to stabilize her. She couldn’t pass out right now, Yamaka already looked guilty enough as is. She gave a shaky smile to Yamaka and pulled out her, now regrettably large and chaotically full purse. Stage one of her panic attacks was the tightness and shaking, and if Yachi’s techniques were done right, she could calm herself before she got to stage two. 

She pushed aside some items in her purse to get to the inside zip pocket-- the only one that is at all organized-- and pulls out her emergency bottle of xanax. She shakes one out, half on purpose, half from her unsteady hands, and pops it in her mouth, chasing it down with the rest of her wine. With this now in her system, she could do some breathing exercises and hopefully by the time the panic fully kicked in, the pill would be fighting it off.

She looked up to the bride only to find her expression to be absolutely dumbfounded, eyes wide with a mixture of concern and a small portion of mirth. 

“Did you- Did you just pop a xanny and chase it with wine?”

Yachi allowed herself two more deep breaths before she replied. “Take me to the statues, Yamaka-san.”

-

Dragging her feet and unreasonably heavy purse into the cramped elevator, mostly Yachi was tired. There was no other word to describe it. After the fiasco that was the end of the wedding, it wasn’t so much physical exhaustion as it was a need to get away from the reception. One of the many downsides to her profession is that every time she finished a job, Yachi was certain she would be more than content to live the rest of her life without seeing another wedding ever again. Even attending a wedding of her own seemed like a terribly taxing concept for those few days after she completed a project. She held her purse up to the small railing on one side of the cramped lift and dug through it to find her keys that always managed to find their way to the very bottom of the disorganized bag. Delving into the depths of each pocket, Yachi reminded herself for the hundredth time in the past few months that she desperately needed to clean it up in there; she could’ve sworn she felt more trash than useful items in the wretched thing.

The elevator dinged as it reached the eighth floor. The noise shook her from her slight daze, and she pulled her hand out of her bag, finally holding the old bird keychain. It was small and black and she figured it was a raven or crow or something along those lines, but it had been a gift given to her years ago and she had never cared so much to determine the specific species. She turned it around in her palm, taking comfort in the familiar feel and weight. The doors opened slowly, mechanically. The hall was long and nearly empty, except for a comfortable figure halfway down the corridor, sitting outside of Yachi’s door with barely-contained enthusiasm. 

“Hitoka-chan!” Oikawa Tooru called to her, almost too loud, but curbed at the edge of disturb-neighbors-loud.

Yachi approached his lounging figure, holding a brown paper bag in one hand that Yachi knew contained cheap, greasy takeout; the other hand held a DVD that Yachi knew would be horrible, though she didn’t dread it anymore. She looked forward to these nights, despite their inconsistency and spontaneity. She offered the significantly larger man a hand, and he took it easily, tucking the DVD under his arm.

“It’s been too long, Hitoka-chan,” Oikawa sighed, in his usual brand of overdramatic, considering they had spoken yesterday and watched a movie together barely over a week ago. “I brought a new one-- it’s called Octo-Aliens, so I can only assume that it will live up to our terribly high standards!”

“Where do you continue to find these, Oikawa-san? It’s honestly quite impressive that you have that time and determination,” Yachi said honestly.

“You wound me!” Yachi unlocked and opened her door, gesturing for Oikawa to come in, giving a questioning face at the theatrics. “You say that like you’d expect anything less than impressive from me. I have sources and wonderful finding skills that bring us to these lovely get-togethers.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you!” Yachi amended, but Oikawa only huffed in response.

Oikawa handed the short blonde girl the bags of food and shuffled to put the disc in the DVD player that Yachi had primarily for this purpose. Yachi took her respective seat on the worn out loveseat and watched as he clicked a few buttons, now second nature after the few months they had both lived in this complex. In all honesty, they only knew each other because they moved in on the same day-- otherwise Yachi was fairly certain they never would have spoken; but as Fate would have it, they made acquaintance that day and fell into a subsequent comfortable friendship that consisted of movie nights and various videos sent back and forth. Even after five months living on the eighth floor, she knew no one but Oikawa and the landlord in the entire mid-rise.

Oikawa settled onto the floor, right in front of Yachi’s seat on the couch. She laced her fingers through his soft brown hair and started massaging his scalp as the movie began. It was second-nature now, this routine they had slipped into their busy lives in the past few months. Oikawa was easy to speak to, so natural in conversation that Yachi’s anxiety settled down significantly.

“So what did happen to the bride? Did she get cold feet or was it just some sort of misunderstanding, because honestly from what I’ve heard about Yamaka-chan it could be either.” Oikawa was opening his takeout and setting all of his utensils up neatly, as he tended to do; some sort of habit he developed at the bakery that he forgot he didn’t have to do at home.

“Unsurprisingly enough, Yamaka-san was stressing about the weight of it all-”

Oikawa cut her off with a light laugh. “You can just say she got cold feet, Yachi dearest.”

“Okay, she got cold feet. She dragged me to a frozen yogurt place and gave me a list of things Daishou-san does that she doesn’t like, which was particularly bold. Have you noticed that he only wears slip-ons and velcro? He apparently believes that shoelaces are a waste of time. Anyways, I had to convince her it would work out.”

“Do you really think it will?”

Yachi chewed on her lip, deciding for a moment. “I think if they’ve gotten this far, they can get through the rest of their lives.” She paused for a beat. “Or like at least fifteen years or so.”

“Yeah that sounds about right.”

“Anyways, other than the statue incident that I frankly do not want to discuss, that was the extent of the interesting events of this wedding. How is the bakery? Hows Iwa-Chan?” She dragged out Oikawa’s nickname for his best friend in a teasing tone.

Oikawa pointedly ignored the last part as he spoke. “Okay, so the bakery is really busy as of late- spring, the beginning of wedding season and all that, you know what I mean. So we have like twenty-three cakes to do just this week and of course we have the new recruits, but we’re still training them so it’s like a heavy workload and it’s driving Iwa-chan insane-”

“Just Iwaizumi?” 

“Rude! I am fully equipped to deal with pressure and deadlines, it’s basically my thing, but Iwa-chan has always been a more slow and steady guy- he likes getting everything right. You’d honestly think it’d be me who would be concerned with that because I’m the one who does the details and decorations, but Iwa-chan has been so tense lately!”

“Maybe you should help him relax,” Yachi suggested.

Oikawa gave the girl an appalled stare that she didn’t quite comprehend. “I really don’t know how you say things like that and don’t understand what that sentence would imply if literally anyone else said it. It’s almost incredible.”

“You know what I mean Oikawa!” Yachi felt a flush spread across her cheeks and felt suddenly grateful that Oikawa wasn’t facing her. “I just mean you should invite him over for dinner or something easy that can help you two to calm down. You’ve been friends forever-- it won’t be weird just because you have a thing for him.”

“Wow, Yachi! When you put it like that I sound even more pathetic,” Oikawa whined dramatically, putting a pale, dainty hand upon his forehead for effect. “Anyways, that’s not why I’m concerned; quite frankly, I’ve had a thing for him for as long as I can remember. It’s just that we don’t hang out as much nowadays, you know? Ever since he got that serious girlfriend and I moved out, we’ve been close but it’s just not the same. Did you know he hasn’t broken up with her yet? He says they’ll ‘get through it’ and like yeah, I think that would be a nice sentiment or whatever if they had any chemistry at all! Watching them kiss is like watching my parents kiss-- like I can’t even pretend that’s me because it would be depressing to kiss Iwa-chan like that. Moral of this whole rant, I just don’t know how I’d invite him over without it seeming like a date thing.”

Yachi sighed at Oikawa’s dramatics. He made it seem a lot more complicated than it was and she knew this firsthand. From that rant you’d expect constant tension between the two of them and a girlfriend who wants Oikawa dead because Iwaizumi was so invested in him. In reality, Yachi had seen the three of them interact many times and it was mostly organic, if not tinged with a hint of awkwardness that only anyone who really knew Oikawa would truly notice. The whole situation was clearly unideal, but that didn’t make it the soap opera Oikawa always made it out to be.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you,” Yachi prefaced warningly. “You are overdramatizing this. Invite him over for takeout and Godzilla and he’ll probably take you up with a few insults that he doesn’t mean. That’s how it always goes. It’s not like he’ll offer to invite Aihara-san, he’s not dense enough not to realize that you’re not particularly fond of her.”

Oikawa exhaled, long and thoughtful. He twined his fingers together and tapped his pointers together like he was plotting something. “Should I text him now?”

“What? No! You definitely should not text Iwaizumi at 1:00 AM to come over to your house sometime? I may be bad at reading sexual subtext, but that definitely sounds like a booty call!”

“Don’t sound so frantic, you’ll make me nervous too and I haven’t even done it!”

A loud sound rang from the TV and they both looked over to find a woman screaming, an alien octopus attached to her face and making moist squishing sounds that made Yachi nauseous. 

“Francine! There’s an octo-alien on your face!” cried a middle aged man with uncomfortably bulging biceps.

“I am just telling you that you should talk to him tomorrow and offer it up casually, like you just thought of it right then! That’ll work and even if he sees through you, which he might, he’ll just think you miss him, which you do!” Yachi finished her advice with that reassurance, hoping it would satiate Oikawa’s chronic overthinking when it came to his childhood best friend.

“Okay but what if he realizes-”

“If he hasn’t realized yet, he will not realize just because you invite him over for dinner and Godzilla.”

“Okay but-”

Oikawa was rudely cut off by a soft, but firm knocking on Yachi’s door. At this time of night, the only thing Yachi could imagine was happening was a noise complaint. She looked over at the off-white door and started hyperventilating. She hadn’t met anyone in this complex except for Oikawa and now one of them was going to hate her without even knowing her because of stupid octo-aliens and Oikawa’s unreasonably dramatic love life or lack thereof. And they’d tell the landlord and Yachi would get kicked out and it would be so last minute that she’d have to live on the street-- or worse, she’d have to beg Yamaguchi to let her stay in his and Tsukishima’s spare room. Tsukishima is a little bit terrifying and the thought of having to inconvenience them like that made her breathing get progressively heavier. Oh God, what if she hears them having sex? The spare room is right next to their bedroom, of course she would hear them having sex! How could she ever look her best friend in the eye after that? And he’d slowly start to resent her because his sex life would be weird because Yachi was right next door and- Shit! She was thinking about her best friend’s love life!

“Hello darling Yaku-chan!” Oikawa drawled, now at the door in front of a frustrated-looking man that Yachi had heard of before, but never seen in person. He was short and had dark strawberry-blonde hair that was flat on one side, like he had been sleeping recently. His mouth was set in a flat line that screamed no-nonsense. Yachi was so far that she could only muffle a laugh as Yaku kicked Oikawa’s left shin.

“You are keeping this poor girl up, didn’t you say she sent you a meme at 8:00 AM? This is way too late to be keeping her up with whatever movie and gossip you have this time.”

Yachi opened her mouth in an attempt to correct him and defend Oikawa, but Yaku’s tone was frightening to say the least, and Oikawa was quick to retort.

“For your information, Yachi enjoys our gossip sessions, thank you very much! Just because you think it’s a waste of time doesn’t mean everyone shares your depraved tastes.”

“I bet it was about Iwa-chan, wasn’t it?” Yaku did an impressively accurate Oikawa impression on the ‘Iwa-chan’.

“And if it was? It’s not like you’re any better! How’s Haiba?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would! You know I would!”

Yaku coughed and turned to the girl, still sitting still as a statue on the loveseat. “You must be Yachi.” His face was significantly kinder than it had been just a moment previous.

Yachi stood up suddenly, relieved that the arguing had stopped, while simultaneously realizing how rude she had been. She walked a little too quickly to the door and stopped in front of Yaku, holding out a hand. “That’s me!”

“Lovely to meet you,” Yaku smiled.

“I don’t suppose you two are… involved?”

At once Oikawa and Yaku gave an emphatic “No!” As an answer. Oikawa made some enthusiastic barfing noises to back up his negative reaction.

“Point taken,” Yachi said hesitantly.

Oikawa moved to put an arm around her shoulder, squatting nearly patronizingly to get to a height where such a feat was possible. “This is Yaku, my roommate. I’ve mentioned him before, but I suppose I’ve never explained our relationship. This is my good friend Yachi: neighbor, movie lover, gossip partaker, wedding planner extraordinaire!”

“I wouldn’t say movie lover more like movie tolerator-”

Yaku interrupted before she could begin another sentence. “Wedding planner?” He asked. “That’s wonderful! I always thought you were a bride with a very high-maintenance, long-term engagement, but this works out much better.”

“I uh,” Yachi stopped him. “I’m confused.”

Yaku’s face was full of barely-harnessed delight at his newfound discovery. It was a calmer expression than she was used to with her multitude of overly-excitable friends, and it was almost enough to set her nerves at some sort of ease. “Well I am a groomsman to a friend who recently got engaged, and they’ve been searching like mad for a good wedding planner. To think I have one right next door! I don’t want to get too hasty, but I think you’d work very well with their personalities. I’ll give you my number and I’ll text you when they decide that you’re a good choice.” He exaggerated the when and gave her a knowing wink as he pulled out a business card, though Yachi could not think of a plausible reason for him to have such a thing on his person when going to retrieve his roommate from an apartment two doors down. 

Yachi played with a bracelet she had on and she looked up at Yaku’s face, expecting so much. It almost made her nervous how keen he was. She accepted the business card with a nervous smile. It had his name in bold font and his specialties below it. Yaku Morisuke, Pediatric Specialist and a list of other things that Yachi couldn’t make out beyond her shaky hand. “Yeah, that sounds good! I am just finishing up with my last job, so I will watch out for a message. It’s very kind of you to consider me for the job so quickly!.”

Yaku’s face showed his satisfaction with the answer, prideful with his success. “Not at all, Yachi-san. If you can handle Oikawa, then I’m sure there’s nothing about this couple that could hurt you.” He looked at Oikawa, brown eyes full of finally-admitted fondness. “Look who was good for something!” He directed at the taller man, who looked insulted as ever. 

“I do so much for you, and this is what I get? Backhanded compliments in front of my friends? You are a truly, deeply disturbed man, Yaku-chan.” Oikawa’s pout could be accurately compared to that of a toddler’s, or a particularly emotional puppy. 

Yaku punched his roommate in the shoulder and rolled his eyes at his mini-tantrum. “You know I don’t mind you, Oikawa— you just also have a tendency to cause more trouble than you’re worth at times!”

Oikawa opened his mouth, looking more and more wounded by the moment, but Yachi knew him and could see past the shallow pout. Oikawa knew that it was all playful, and Yaku saw that in him too. 

“Okay well I’ll take Oikawa-” Yaku sent the former a lightly dirty look, stopping his rebuttal before he could start it. “with me to the apartment so you can get some sleep. I assure you we will be in touch.”

Yachi nodded politely as Yaku dragged Oikawa out of her apartment, who was whisper-yelling cries for help that Yachi decided to conveniently ignore.

“Yachiiii, save me from this emotionless husk of a man! Who knows how he’ll punish me!”

Yachi ignored this, but heard Yaku return a muffled chuckle and some sort of snarky comment about “punishment”, followed by a small, incredulous squawk from Oikawa. 

Yachi smiled at the strange encounter, and thought briefly on what her life had become. This was her second acquaintance in the apartment complex, despite her living there for half a year. Nearly twenty-seven, Yachi was a hermit and an achingly single wedding planner. She hadn’t had a date in two years and three months, not that she was counting. It had been a feeble attempt and an awkward thing, so uncomfortable she had hoped it would satiate her desire to ever date again. Still, there were times where she’d sit in the audience and watch vows be exchanged, so raw and adoring, that she wondered if she would ever be able to plan her own wedding and love someone so deeply she’d never want to be apart from them. 

It seemed desperately unrealistic and unbearably wonderful. Such a lovely fantasy that, no matter how many times she pondered it, she couldn’t bear to let herself linger on the idea. It only hurt.

Yachi fell down on her unmade bed, and sighed-- out of both relief and anticipation. She was done with yet another wedding, but nearly immediately called back into action. She wasn’t sure whether to be glad for the near sureness of her next job, or disappointed that she was not getting a break. She couldn’t really decide on that, because truly, she was grateful for Yaku’s offer. She couldn’t bear to seem selfish, even in her own head. She simply laid her head on the pillows on the right side of her bed and closed her eyes. There was eight months of exhaustion that she was determined to catch up on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no beta so if i made any mistakes no i didn't :-)


	2. does it smell like a school gymnasium in here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oy, Yacchan!” Yachi spun around to face the man calling for her. “You okay? I saw you spill coffee all over yourself looking at Shimizu and I promise, she has that same effect on everyone who meets her.”
> 
> Yachi groaned in embarrassment. Yamaguchi looked like he just won the power ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter/title name: [two slow dancers by mitski](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUfkfJfsKrc<br)
> 
> hi!!! sorry it took me so long to update, my laptop completely died after the first chapter. I got a new one for christmas though so we should be back on track! i meant to release this closer to kiyoko's birthday but things have come up so oh well. i'm a little slow at writing and i'm a little bit busy with school, so the updates might take a little time, but no more like a month in between each hopefully!! again, this is my first time really committing to writing a full fic so stay with me here!! <3  
> (also i figure i'd mention that kenma in this fic uses he/they, so i use them interchangeably when talking about him so that's why both pronouns are used)

Yachi Hitoka wasn’t one to go out of her comfort zone unless explicitly necessary, so it wouldn’t come as much of a surprise that she had a handful of restaurants and stores that she tended to frequent. Once she’d moved to her new apartment complex, she had chosen a few places to be her go-to choices. Her criteria wasn’t overly specific: close in proximity to her apartment, unlikely to be intensely crowded, and hopefully with friendly staff, but not friendly in the “Here Let Me Micromanage Your Experience” way. It happened that Nekoma Coffee qualified in each of those departments, along with the added bonus of an acquaintance as an employee there.

Kuroo Testurou could not be considered Yachi’s friend- though, maybe that’s untrue. The core qualities that define friendship are communication and quality time. Yachi’s regular visits to the coffee shop and brief conversations with Kuroo could suggest a friendship, but honestly, Kuroo was only her barista and a work associate’s friend. The explanation can be drawn out further than necessary, but in essence, it is this:

Yachi does not understand why Kuroo acts so familiar around her.

“Yacchan! It’s been a minute- fucking bridezillas always getting in the way of our bonding time!” He tried to nudge at her from across the counter, but missed by a wide margin.

Yachi smiled at his enthusiasm, albeit hesitant and vaguely terrified. “Hi, Kuroo.”

Kuroo was smiling lazily at her from behind the counter, holding a tan styrofoam cup loosely so he could write Yachi’s name on it. He drew little spirals and flowers around the kanji, (poorly, but the thought was there). The sciene-themed bracelet he wears jingles slightly- a gift he’d gotten from Kozume a few years back. She couldn’t help but think that it was cute that he still wore it so often. Yachi scarcely ever saw him without it. She thought maybe if Japan were a little more progressive, they could be coming to her for wedding planning in a few years.

She supposed there was still hope yet.

“The usual?” He asks, snapping Yachi out of a brief moment of distraction.

“Yes please.”

Yachi handed Kuroo the money and watched as he worked. He’d worked at Nekoma coffee for three years, and it showed in his efficiency. The cup was filled with coffee that had a little more sugar than necessary; black coffee was often considered to be an “acquired taste”, but Yachi stood firm in her belief that if you have to develop a taste, then it’s probably just gross and you eventually become numb to its grossness. Yachi was a lot of things: she was approachable, smart, creative, tech-savvy, and often considered to be cute. Yachi was not tolerant enough to sit through adjustment periods in which she desperately attempted to enjoy the taste of something bitter and unpleasant. If it meant she could get caffeine in a sufferable form, she would willingly sit through Kuroo’s mocking every time she went to the cafe and got a coffee that was basically half cream, sugar, and caramel. 

“You know, you might be small and cute now, but one day you’re going to get diabetes from this. You’re a lot like Kenma! I swear they survive on solely Mountain Dew and ramen on his days off. I keep telling them they need to learn to cook other things because I can’t always be there, what with this job and my PhD, but he’s so adamant that he has no problem living like that. Like yeah, I know he doesn’t have a problem with that, but it might kill him someday! And then I’ll have to make Bokuto my best-best friend, and we all know he’s better as a best bro.”

Kuroo had a tendency to take over conversations with people he knew were more comfortable listening than talking. It made a lot of sense when you thought about it, with his extensive history with Kozume. If Yachi had thought about it without the context of knowing him, she might’ve thought it would be too much, but somehow the way he did it just made it work. Yachi felt comfortable listening to him ramble about Kozume and the few other topics he knew how to talk about.

He handed her the cup, still hot even after the milk and creamer. Yachi took it in both hands, as she always did: half for the warmth, half out of fear of dropping it. It smelled sweet and Yachi smiled up at Kuroo in thanks. 

“Say hi to Kozume for me,” She said. “I heard you helped them fix their console- You’re a very good friend!”

Kuroo said nothing in response, but something in his eyes shone with an understanding of her subtle implications. He always was a bit more observant than he came off to be. Yachi wasn’t one to meddle with most things, and she certainly never meddled outright- but sometimes when she saw an undertone of romance, she felt the need to vaguely mention it at times. She thought it might’ve had something to do with her occupation; the responsibility she felt for many couples started carrying over into her social life. Kuroo and Kozume both took it without a hitch. They never gave a solid reply to Yachi’s suggestions. 

Yachi walked away from the counter, not wanting to disrupt the organic ending to that conversation. There she found that it was a little less crowded in the small place than usual. Her legs automatically took her to her usual table, assuming it would be free, though she stopped a few feet short of the seats. There was a woman in a cream-colored sweater sitting there, gazing out of the cafe, stuck in her thoughts as Yachi often was. Even with the sort-of distance between them, Yachi could see her blue eyes behind thinly-rimmed glasses. Her shoulder-length black hair was slightly choppy, and fell straight down as she leaned toward the window. She had a beauty mark beneath her lips and a mostly-drained mug of what might have been coffee in front of her. The woman started tapping lightly on the table and the movement made Yachi leap into action, realizing that her standing there and staring likely made her seem weird and stalker-ish to anyone who saw her. She went to move forward, keep looking for another table, when she tripped over her own two feet- sending her coffee flying.

She could almost see the full future in front of her eyes. She falls. She spills the drink on the pretty woman in the cream-colored sweater. The woman would clearly be angry. Maybe she’s rich. “This sweater is Chanel!” she might say. Yachi now has to pay for this crazy expensive sweater because she has ruined it beyond repair. Yachi doesn’t have that kind of money! She tries to apologize, but the woman is not having it. She picks up her phone and calls her husband, who just so happens to be the prime minister of Malaysia. Yachi tries to run away, knowing there’s no way she can talk her out of this. The prime minister sends out his prime minister money to have her found, and when they find her, they send her to debtors prison (does that still exist?) because she can’t afford to pay the price of the sweater.

Yachi is already hyperventilating when she hears a calm, feminine voice addressing her.

“Are you okay?” says the woman in the cream-colored sweater, distinctly not-fuming.

Yachi looks up to see that, much to her chagrin, the woman is even more beautiful up-close. “I- well- I’m- uh, you?”

The woman looked slightly bemused for a moment before a soothing smile stretched across her lips. “I’m fine,” the woman assured Yachi. “Do you need help?”

Yachi realized that she was still lying on the floor, looking up at the woman. She quickly stood up and tried to dust herself off politely, before realizing her shirt was partially drenched in coffee. Yachi rubbed her hands together anxiously, the stickiness making the movement less smooth than she might have hoped for. Now that she could breathe, knowing the woman was not going to send her to debtors prison, Yachi could take in the situation. The coffee spilled on the ground mostly- some stained Yachi’s button-up, and a few drops had gotten on the sweater, but otherwise there was no major damage. The coffee was hot, and Yachi thought there might be some kind of minor burn, which made the subsided panic resurface again.

“I think there might be a burn?” Yachi blurted out anxiously, though she didn’t really mean to tell the woman.

The woman’s eyes lit up in recognition as she took hold of Yachi’s wrist loosely. She gently guided her away from the mess, toward the women’s bathroom. They passed a large figure on the way that Yachi thought might have been an employee going to clean up the mess, but she wasn’t so sure. She was feeling a little dizzy- though she didn't know if it was from the anxiety, the burn, or the almost-hand holding. The establishment had three single bathrooms, (men’s, women’s, and family) instead of the usual stalls in restaurants. It wasn’t until the woman spoke again that Yachi realized she was breathing too quickly.

“Before I do this, my name is Shimizu Kiyoko.”

Yachi had started her breathing exercises, holding out a single finger to indicate that she needed a moment. She hoped the apologetic grimace on her face conveyed that she meant it in the most polite way possible. The woman- Shimizu -seemed to patiently wait for the slower breathing to kick in. To Yachi, it seemed almost agonizing to stand there and try to breathe. Yachi was the one who caused the trouble, and this woman was an innocent bystander, still calmer than she was. It made Yachi feel ridiculous; not to mention, the woman was so beautiful that anyone next to her seemed dull. Yachi looked to Shimizu to try to capture her expression, but she didn’t look frustrated. She only looked concerned as she gazed at the shorter girl. 

“I’m sorry,” Yachi said when she was finally able to speak. “My name is Yachi Hitoka. I’m so sorry for making such a mess! You’re really the victim here, you don’t have to help me. I can figure this out just fine, I think! It’s just a little coffee burn, nothing to worry about! You on the other hand, your sweater is so nice and I spilled on it! I really hope it’s not Chanel, because honestly I could not pay to replace that. Anyways, thank you Shimizu-san, you are so kind, but you don’t have to be here. You can just go about your day, I’ll-”

“Yachi-san, I’m sorry for interrupting, but we should apply water to your burn. Do you have any kind of garments beneath your shirt?” 

Yachi was breathing heavily once again after her fast-paced rambling. She took a moment to steady herself against the dirty sink, processing what Shimizu had said to her. “G-garments?”

“Yes. Hopefully a tank-top or something, but a bra would do as well.” Shimizu had taken her purse into the bathroom without Yachi’s notice- which wasn’t exactly difficult, given her current situation and state of mind. Inside was a plethora of things, most of which Yachi couldn’t discern, but what she could identify was the first aid kit the woman pulled out from the bottom of the bag.

“I think I have a tank- a tank-top on,” Yachi stuttered, still unsure of the situation.

“Unbutton your blouse,” Shimizu says, straightforward as anything.

Yachi’s mind went completely blank in the eyes of this pretty woman suggesting she undress. In her state of panic, all she could think was, “Uhhh, okay.” 

She began to unbutton, starting from the top of the blouse, before noticing her hands shook so hard she couldn’t seem to get the buttons out of the small holes. The frustration from her brain melted into her fingertips, shaking her so hard that she could barely breathe once again- which only caused more discouragement. Such a simple task, yet she couldn’t accomplish it even partially. Her nails dug into the fabric, trying with increasing desperation to get the button through the blouse.

“May I?” Shimizu asked, shaking Yachi out of her frustrated concentration for a moment. The question only evoked confusion from the shorter, trembling woman. Without truly knowing what Shimizu was asking, Yachi shook a slight, bewildered nod.

Shimizu began unbuttoning Yachi’s blouse like this: easily, professionally, efficiently. Yachi could only stare at the focused look in the woman’s strikingly blue eyes as she quickly undid every button. The woman was so close that Yachi felt like they were meant to be in the middle of something more intimate than this. She had just begun to let her mind wander when Shimizu met her eyes and took a small step back. 

“Is it okay if I lift your tank top to see how bad it is?” Shimizu’s blue eyes bore into her brown ones, simple and questioning.

Yachi’s flush was red and burning across her cheeks as she nodded firmly, eyes never leaving Shimizu’s own, even as the other woman focused on different parts of Yachi’s body. Subdued by her fluster, it was only when Shimizu peeled the tank top from Yachi’s stomach that she recognized the burning there. She hissed in pain, but refused to look down to her injury. Shimizu’s eyes shone in concern and traces of pity. Yachi could tell the burn was likely not anything too serious, despite the overwhelming sensation it caused her. Every touch to her stomach hurt like a minor stab wound, or what she figured a minor stab wound would feel like, considering she’d never been stabbed. She squeaked at each of Shimizu’s inquisitive taps. 

“Good news,” Shimizu said lightly, pulling her finger back, “it is definitely a first degree, which is easily treatable and shouldn’t be too painful by tomorrow. Bad news is that, for a first degree burn, this one is a little severe- just a little hotter and this might’ve been a second degree. I’m going to put a soaked washcloth on it, then I have some ointment I’ll use if that’s okay.”

Yachi, still in terrible pain and consumed with staring at the beautiful woman who was touching her unclothed torso, could do little more than mumble a vague reassurance. Shimizu took no offense at the lackluster response, only digging briefly through her first aid kit. It took her very little time to find the washcloth and the burn cream, which Yachi supposed was only to be expected- the bag of medical supplies was organized to the minute details. It made Yachi’s heart skip a beat despite itself. 

Through the pain, she found herself asking the woman, “Why do you have a first aid kit?”

The woman smiled slightly as she set the burn cream on the sink, and Yachi stared unabashedly at the sight. “I’m a pediatric physician, I carry it just in case.”

It explained plenty: Shimizu’s steady hands, her ability to quickly identify the level of severity to Yachi’s burn, the light and straightforward ministrations of her fingers on Yachi’s skin. It made Yachi respect the woman even more than she had before, which was saying a lot considering how much admiration she had built for Shimizu in the mere minutes they had known one another. Shimizu, who had been soaking the washcloth in cold water while Yachi had been stuck in her head, turned and carefully applied the towel to her injury. Yachi couldn’t help but allow herself to look at her burn for the first time since its unfortunate existence, if only because Shimizu’s nimble finger were there. The skin was red, clearly irritated, and slightly raised. Shimizu pressed the cool washcloth into the burn, gentle and persistent. 

“You can hold this if you like.” Shimizu worded it more like an offer than an instruction, but Yachi took hold of the washcloth obediently anyway. She kept her eyes on Shimizu, who stood fully up after all of the leaning she had to do to reach Yachi’s stomach. Shimizu met Yachi’s gaze and gave a reassuring smile.

“You’ll have to hold it for four minutes. If it would make you more comfortable, I can give you the salve now and leave.”

Yachi didn’t have any clear reasoning for it, but she did not want Shimizu to leave- not yet. She shook her head silently, looking away for a brief moment. She hoped she could pass it off as uncertainty instead of curiosity of the woman who had helped her, when she could have just as easily gotten frustrated with Yachi’s mistake. She hoped that she could, just this once, play her innocent “cutesy” demeanor to her advantage. She didn’t mean to exploit the woman’s obvious experience with children, but she knew that if she let her go, she’d never see Shimizu again. Yachi didn’t plan to ask for Shimizu’s number, but a few extra minutes with the woman couldn’t do her any harm.

“I understand- are you new to burns?” Shimizu considered the girl in front of her, which made Yachi more self-conscious than ever. To have anyone else look her up and down and determine her abilities was bad; having Shimizu Kiyoko, the most beautiful woman she’d ever laid eyes on, do that same thing, was downright humiliating.

“I’m not exactly… new to injuries of most kinds, but I don’t cook often, which means I don’t usually burn myself. This is the first time it’s ever been bad or anywhere but my finger.” Yachi kept her gaze at her feet, praying that she couldn’t see just how strongly Yachi wanted Shimizu to like her, or at the very least tolerate her.

“You’re not new to injuries? Are you okay?” Shimizu seemed more concerned for Yachi’s safety than concerned for her mental capabilities, as Yachi had feared. Through the short-lived relief, Yachi felt the need to defend herself.

“I’m okay, I promise!” She explained quickly. “I’m just really clumsy, so I end up hurting myself all the time. Nothing bad though, just paper cuts and broken plates and such!”

Shimizu smiled again, though this time it was not reassurance, but comfort, mixed with what might have been fondness if Yachi trusted herself not to filter the interaction through rose-colored glasses. “Oh okay, that’s a relief.”

“Yeah! Well, kind of.” Yachi snorted half heartedly at her own many mistakes. “I know I said this before but I’ve broken. So many plates.”

Shimizu laughs at that, which wipes the dejected look off of Yachi’s face in a moment’s notice. Though it was brief, like blink-and-you’d-miss-it brief, Yachi felt so inclined to say it was the most wonderful thing she’d seen all day- no, all year. Her eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, thinned until the blue irises were hardly noticeable- a feat, considering their vibrance.

“I understand,” Shimizu says, face riddled with the echo of her laugh, small crinkles framing her eyes. “My fiancé has a knack for baking, even though he’s very clumsy. He’s broken more baking dishes in the past six years than I have in my entire life.”

Yachi’s stomach dropped dramatically- too dramatically, she thought, for a woman she barely knew. It was like being hit by a car that she saw coming, but didn’t recognize the danger of until it ran her over. She bit her tongue, now wishing more than ever that this process would quicken. She didn’t know how to respond to that- not that she knew how to speak to Shimizu when she thought they had been maybe-almost flirting, but now she felt frozen in the conversation. Yachi had a tendency to carry her emotions in her tone, in her words; it was something she’d done all through childhood and never seemed to grow out of. She hoped her silence, her newfound tenseness, could be passed off as a rush of pain from the burn, instead of the reaction to some form of half-rejection.

“Does it hurt?” Shimizu asked, worry staining her lovely voice. Yachi looked across at her again, seeing that, while Shimizu was focused on the burn, her brows were drawn together in concern for Yachi’s pain.

“I guess,” Yachi said, though she wasn’t really answering the same question she was asked. 

“Would you prefer silence?” Shimizu was thoughtful in this question, lips pursing in wait for the answer.

“Y-yes, I think so.”

The remaining minutes ticked by like this: Like class after you’ve finished the test early because you guessed on nearly every question. Like after your parents say “can we talk?”. Like when you watch the bubble of ellipses as someone types their message, then backspaces, then types, then backspaces. Like the moments before a car crash. Like waiting for your change in a drive through with a long line. Like slow, slow agony in the form of awkward silence.

Or at least, that’s what Yachi felt.

When Shimizu motioned for Yachi to remove the now dirty washcloth, Yachi let out a sigh of relief that was replaced with another pained hiss as the sting of the air returned to blowing on her burn. Shimizu apologized lowly, but didn’t return any pressure to the injury. She pulled out the salve she had set aside previously. Instead of a long, white tube that Yachi would have expected for the ointment, it was a small, screw-top jar. Shimizu swiped her pale fingers over the material inside and turned toward Yachi with a remorseful look set in the shape of her lips. The fluorescent lights that hung above them made Shimizu look slightly sickly compared to the natural lighting, but even so, she looked more beautiful than Yachi imagined she could ever try to be. It wasn’t until Shimizu started speaking that Yachi even noticed she was staring.

“This is going to hurt,” She said.

It did.

Shimizu’s hands were careful, soft, knowing. Her touch burned Yachi’s skin. She cursed under her breath, but Shimizu proceeded, knowing full well that it would sting. Her fingers traced the inflamed skin of Yachi’s torso, delicate and clinical. It felt oily, a thick sheen of the medicine covering Yachi’s aching skin. It was barely ten seconds before Shimizu removed her fingers from Yachi’s stomach. She took a step back to wash her hands, then proceeded by placing her supplies strategically into her first aid kit and handing the ointment to Yachi.

“I can’t thank you enough, Shimizu-san- really! I know that it must have been a bit of a hassle to help me when I was the one who fell and spilled it everywhere. You’re way too kind, really! Is there any way that I could repay you, like I don’t have a bunch of money, but if you-” Yachi was cut off by Shimizu standing up from her squat in front of her bag, holding out a lollipop toward the blonde.

“Uh…” Yachi stared at her outstretched hand, unsure whether to be offended or grateful for the odd distraction.

“Oh, my bad,” Shimizu pulled her hand back. “It’s a habit, I work with kids.”

Yachi deliberated for a moment, before reaching to grab the hand with the lollipop Shimizu had offered. She picked the candy from her fist and unwrapped it, popping into her mouth with an awkward smile. Shimizu gave her a look, confused. Yachi gave the best answer she could think of in her pain and anxiety, “Candy always helped after shots when I was little, so I just thought, you know.”

Shimizu smiled in return to Yachi’s remark, small and fond. “I have to be on my way. My lunch break is nearly over.”

“Oh, well thank you, Shimizu-san! I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t helped me there- you’re really a lifesaver!” Yachi fit in as much as she could without it being overwhelming, knowing that at times she could say more than necessary.

Shimizu pulled her bag over her head, across her shoulder. She opted to wipe her still-wet hands on her jeans instead of setting off the loud hand-dryer. She turned to the other woman quickly. “Goodbye, Yachi-san. Be sure to keep up with the burn care. Try to apply the salve every now and then.”

Shimizu was halfway out the door when Yachi finally found it in her to respond with a soft, “goodbye, Shimizu-san.”

-

“Oh this is gonna be good,” was the first thing that Yamaguchi said when he saw his best friend approach their usual table from the bathroom- blouse coffee-stained, eyes vacant and dazed, with Kuroo trailing her looking half-concerned, half-amused.

“Oy, Yacchan!” Yachi spun around to face the man calling for her. “You okay? I saw you spill coffee all over yourself looking at Shimizu and I promise, she has that same effect on everyone who meets her.”

Yachi groaned in embarrassment. Yamaguchi looked like he just won the power ball.

“You didn’t have to tell him,” Yachi whined, placing her small hands over her face in a futile attempt to hide her bright red blush. 

“Oh, sorry.” Kuroo was very clearly not sorry.

“Do you mean Shimizu as in Shimizu Kiyoko?” Yamaguchi asked, a look of pure bliss marking his freckled face.

Yachi glared at Kuroo with all of her might, though in true Hitoka form, she couldn’t look intimidating if she tried. Kuroo gave her a look that told her loud and clear how unsuccessful her attempt was. With a mischievous look, he started walking back to the counter. “I think I will take this as a chance to excuse myself.”

Yamaguchi looked back toward Yachi, curiosity clear in his eyes. He didn’t have to say a word for Yachi to understand what he was telling her: spill.

So, in true Hitoka form, she did so without hesitation. 

“So you’re telling me,” Yamaguchi looked torn between laughing and pitying Yachi, “that you basically fell in love with my friend’s fiancée because she helped you with your burn?”

Yachi’s mouth fell wide open, in that way so exaggerated that if it were a cartoon, her jaw would be hitting the floor. “Your friend’s fiancée?” She exclaimed, far too loud for the cafe’s atmosphere.

“Haven’t I introduced you to my dear friend Sugawara Koushi?” Yamaguchi, despite his best efforts to worry for his friend’s mental health, was endlessly entertained by this series of events.

“Oh god, not Suga!” She hid her head in her arms on the table, careful to avoid shaking it for the sake of Yamaguchi’s unfinished coffee. “Of course, it’s the sweetest guy I know! Why couldn’t he have been an asshole.” She lamented into the table. “This would've been so much easier if you told me it was Terushima-san or something.”

“Woah, Hitoka!” Yamaguchi teased. “Are you trying to steal Shimizu away from Suga?”

Yachi pulled her head out of her arms to flick her best friend’s temple. “Save the sadism for your boyfriend, Tadashi.” She pouted at him. “You know I’d never do anything like that.” 

Yamaguchi frowned, falsely pitying. “And here I was, thinking you were a romantic.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yachi rolled her eyes at his dramatics. “Pack it up, Hamlet.”

“To be, or not to be- that is the question:” Yamaguchi announced.

Yachi picked up her phone, desperately trying to block Yamaguchi out as he recited an impressive amount of Hamlet’s famous soliloquy. There was a notification from Co-Star saying a simple “Your nervous energy won’t be especially useful today.” as if she didn’t already know. She had a few likes on her recent Instagram post, some pictures of the latest wedding. Some game notifications she didn’t deign to read, some discourse on Twitter, someone still using Snapchat in 2020, and one thing that stuck out. A text message from an unknown number. 

Unknown Number:  
Hey, this is Yaku Morisuke! I got your number  
from Oikawa. The couple responded and said  
they’d like to hire you!

Yachi took a moment to process the message before looking back up at Yamaguchi, who, despite Yachi’s complete disinterest, had not given up his monologue. 

“Perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub-”

“Yamaguchi, I love you so much, but if you don’t stop quoting Hamlet I will call your grandmother and tell her you haven’t been eating well.”

Yamaguchi stopped suddenly, hands dropping from their expressive stance. “You wouldn’t.” He said, voice low and terrified.

“Wouldn’t I?” Yachi took a moment for the idea to set in- Yamaguchi-san storming in with a recipe book in one hand, and the other one free for pinching cheeks. Yachi thought she saw Tadashi squirm a little in his seat at the thought of being babied by his grandmother at twenty-six years old. 

With Yamaguchi’s brain elsewhere, Yachi rereads Yaku’s message. It’s straightforward enough; this supposedly laid-back couple with no wedding planner has deemed Yachi acceptable. She hesitated for a moment, thinking of what to say. She chose to consider her words for a moment as she filled in the contact information, naming the number ‘Yaku’ for future reference.

Yachi:  
That’s wonderful, thank you! Could you  
send me their names and numbers so we can  
get in communication about the wedding?

Yamaguchi was looking out the window, spacing out as he tended to do in the morning. Yachi watched for a moment, before deciding on snapping to get his attention. He startled slightly, then glared at Yachi lightheartedly for the scare. “Isn’t your lunch break nearly over?” She asked.

He looked down at his phone in concern. “Oh, shit you’re right.” He murmured. 

Yachi watched with a fond smile as Yamaguchi started chugging the little that was left of his coffee. He pulled his light jacket on, stumbling slightly over the panic of the realization that he had to get going so quickly. Yachi stood up with her friend, despite the fact that she didn’t really have much to get back to. Yamaguchi pulled his backpack off of the back of the chair and pulled it on haphazardly. When he reached her, he pulled Yachi into a tight, warm hug. 

“Sorry for making fun of your crush on an almost-married woman!” he said as he pulled out of the embrace.

“You know you technically still are, right?”

“Yup.”

Yachi watched as he took brisk steps out of the cafe. He was surely going to be late, but they had come to expect such mishaps when they met up during his lunch break. She didn’t have to watch him for even one minute before he was out of sight, mixed in with the crowd and beyond the buildings that were in view of Nekoma Coffee. She laughed to herself at her best friend’s antics before collecting her own things to leave. There wasn’t much- just her phone, wallet, and the salve, courtesy of Shimizu.

The cool March air hit Yachi’s face as she pushed through the glass doors and into the semi-busy streets. She looked down at her phone while walking, needing something to keep her consumed while she stepped through the hoard of people. Using her phone as a social crutch was her only intention, but when she turned it on she recalled the text conversation she had been in the middle of when Yamaguchi left. Yaku’s response appeared on her screen, so she unlocked her phone and nearly dropped it out of shock when she read his response.

Yaku:  
I’m glad it’s all working out. Here are  
their numbers:  
Sugawara Koushi - (***) *** ****  
Shimizu Kiyoko - (***) *** ****

With that one message, Yachi could tell:

This was going to be a long few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch as i desperately push my bastard yamaguchi agenda
> 
> (also shout out to my best friend for reading this chapter before therapy to make sure i did alright with characterization!! i love u arson!!)


	3. i don't know you but you make me feel a way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve always heard that it’s a small world, but I don’t think I ever appreciate just how small it can be.” Shimizu’s words were vague, but the meaning was not lost on Yachi, nor was it lost on Sugawara, who sent a questioning look her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter/title name: [jane by LAUNDRY DAY](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8scUDxQqZlw)
> 
> hiiii i know i said i'd update earlier but,....,.. hiiii  
> i'm gonna pretend this was supposed to be a valentine's day-ish update because it's like close to valentine's day i guess?? an knee way here's the introduction to suga n i love him so u better love him too or else >:-(  
> also i've finally finished my outline so this should be about eleven chapters including the epilogue just so everyone knows!!!  
> also yes this is the volleyball timeline, yes most of seijoh works at a bakery now, no i am not explaining. take that libsharts.

The bench beneath Yachi was cold enough to make her shiver the moment she sat. The March morning was cooler than Yachi would have preferred, but she had an appointment, and if nothing else, Yachi was true to her word. So, true to her word, she sat in the center of the park by her apartment, awaiting the dreaded arrival of Shimizu and Sugawara. She watched the pale clouds float smoothly across the sky, sun not yet risen due to the time. She checked her watch to find that it was 6:23, giving her seven extra minutes before the couple was due to meet her. She thought to herself that, maybe, this could have been a lovely, melancholy time to ponder her situation.

Maybe if Oikawa would be a little quieter.

“And Kindaichi, bless the kid, really just wants Iwa’s approval, but he’s too busy to notice. I told him, ‘hey, Iwa-chan, you should look at Kindaichi’s meringues’ but he just kinda mumbles sure and never gets around to it! I can’t just tell him ‘this kid admires you, go compliment his fucking meringues’ because Kindaichi is always right there, waiting for someone’s praise. Kunimi on the other hand, doesn’t want any type of praise. He does the bare minimum, and while that’s enough, I can’t get a feel for how I should encourage his participation; it’s like trying to get blood out of a stone, I swear to God! Like if I praise him, he gets even lazier; if I tell him to do more, he gets irritated. Like, I’m sure I’ll get it eventually- I always do, that’s just how good of a leader I am -but this is starting to get on my nerves.”

Oikawa had called Yachi before she even had the chance to make breakfast. He had been up early to pre-make some sort of dough that Yachi knew nothing about. The conversation started with the classic “Iwa-chan is too busy with his girlfriend” bit, but eventually escalated into general whining. Yachi prided herself on problem solving skills (as long as she was distinctly uninvolved in the issue), but she couldn’t help but zone out as Oikawa went wildly off-topic every thirty seconds.

“Is there something extra you want Kunimi to do?” Yachi asked, genuinely curious.

“Oh, you don’t get it,” Oikawa sighed. 

She supposed she couldn’t understand quite where he was coming from. The closest she’d ever gotten to team management was school projects in which she was deemed ‘The Smart One’; Oikawa had been team building since middle school. His wide range of skills he gained from his many years playing volleyball bled over into his work often, though not as often as he would’ve wanted. When his dreams of professional volleyball went awry after overworking his bad knee, which proved unfixable, he was devastated. A throwaway baking class he took with Iwaizumi in university brought him back to life- something so profound that he decided his new mission in life was baking.

“I guess you’re right,” was Yachi’s response, widely dumbed down from the cacophony of thoughts in her head.

“Also! Did I tell you that when Aihara came to the bakery she asked for my lemon tarts? Like how rude could someone be! Those are my lemon tarts, that I made, for those who are worthy of them and she just walked straight into MY bakery and asked for MY lemon tarts as if she doesn’t already have MY best friend like can she never be satisfied? Some people just have way too much audacity! She needs to be checked.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe she noticed you didn’t like her and wanted to get on your good side by complimenting your confections?” Yachi wondered, coming to the defense of Aihara, who had no way of knowing what she was getting into when she agreed to date Iwaizumi. “She seemed smart when I met her, I’m sure she picked up on it; It’s not like you’re slick. And I can’t imagine anyone is petty enough to think that they should buy their rival’s pastries for the sole purpose of defiling them somehow.”

Oikawa tutted indignantly. “I would do that.”

“Yeah,” Yachi deadpanned. “Case in point.”

Oikawa huffed bitterly and for the first time since the beginning of the call- thirty-two minutes, according to Yachi’s phone -Oikawa was silent. While Yachi did quite enjoy the silence for a moment, it felt disconcerting to be in direct contact with Oikawa and not have him rambling. She understood, albeit slower than she cared to admit, that Oikawa had called her at six in the morning, then whined about nothing in particular, which is out of place, even for him. Oikawa wasn’t much for sharing his true feelings, this was a certain fact that no one who knew him would deny. He would reach out for help through the same distraction he used when he was fine, which made it harder to identify most of the time, especially when you’ve just woken up.

Yachi took a steadying breath, and jumped straight into the problem. “Oikawa, this is more painful than you’re leading me to believe, isn’t it?”

She could hear a brief shudder through the receiver, though she sincerely hoped it wasn’t the prelude to an onslaught of tears. Luckily, Oikawa was no stranger to holding in emotions, so he responded with a classic, “There’s nothing to worry about, Hitoka-chan!”

“Erm, Oikawa, with all due respect, I’m not stupid enough to believe that.”

“We can talk about this later, right? Your bride and groom should be getting there soon,” Oikawa sang, voice oozing superficial charisma. Behind the initial sweet tone, Yachi could sense a sort-of desperation.

“I guess that’s fair. Please do talk to me about this later though, okay?” 

He sighed, relief evident, but he tried to pass it off as a scoff. “Whatever, mom. Don’t you have work to attend to? Also tell me if any of the groomsmen are hot.”

“As always, Oikawa, please do not hook up with my clients’ wedding parties.” Yachi begged, exasperation staining her voice.

“Hasn’t stopped me before, won’t stop me now!” 

There was a beat of silence, not long enough to be uncomfortable, but surely long enough for Yachi to process what she’d heard. “What does that mean?”

“I actually have to get going, Hitoka-chan, there are cakes to decorate!”

“No, no what did you-”

The line went dead. 

“Asshole,” Yachi murmured to herself, staring at her phone and contemplating whether or not it would be worth it to call him back to continue that conversation. She didn’t have to wonder for long.

“What was that?” called a voice from a few feet in front of her. “Oh, I’m sorry that’s rude! Hello, Yachi-san, it’s nice to see you again.”

Yachi perked up immediately, embarrassed about the conversation that he might have overheard. Any bit of it would have been incriminating. All Yachi could do was hope that he had only heard her mumbling to herself, otherwise this would definitely be a disaster and it was only the first meeting. 

Not much had changed in the past few years, Yachi thought. Sugawara looked the same as he did when Yachi had met him briefly at some party or another a few years previous. He had been on a high school volleyball team with Yamaguchi, where they’d seemed to get well-acquainted. While Yamaguchi had never told Yachi plainly, from what she had gathered, Sugawara and Yamaguchi had a friendship eighty percent based around gossip. The both of them had spent the majority of their time together on a bench, so there really were not many other things that might have occurred; plus, Yachi had sensed an amused air between the men when the two of them had sat at a table alone to “catch up”.

Even then, when Sugawara had described himself as “So Stressed I Fear I’ll Die in My Sleep”, he had been very attractive- just with heavy under eye bags and a dull paleness to his skin. Today, Yachi could tell only by the subtle ways he had changed, that he had not been lying about the death-worthy stress. In the natural light of the early March morning, his grey hair shone silver, big hazel eyes beaming with true genuity, tied up with a blinding smile. His skin had a sort-of glow to it, very healthy and horribly enviable. Under eye bags were nowhere to be seen, only cold-flushed cheeks and the distinct beauty mark by his eye. To put it simply, Sugawara Koushi was downright lovely. His expression, not to mention his whole demeanor, was gentle as he gazed at Yachi, knowing well enough that she could be easily startled. 

“Hello, Suga-san,” Yachi greeted politely, though her attention was more focused on what Shimizu’s reaction to her presence could be. 

Kiyoko was more beautiful than Yachi remembered, though that wasn’t saying much- she had been too frightened in their first meeting to truly digest Shimizu in all of her glory. Her eyes still beamed sky-blue, her lips still held their elegant fullness and mark on the bottom right side. Her face expressed a sort of shock that was shadowed by a larger amount of amusement. Standing next to her fiancé, Yachi could sense that they were well-matched, both in beauty and demeanor- their individual loveliness only pulling the other’s out further when they stood side-by-side, their individual charms dancing around one another, playing in the air in front of them.

“I’ve always heard that it’s a small world, but I don’t think I ever appreciate just how small it can be.” Shimizu’s words were vague, but the meaning was not lost on Yachi, nor was it lost on Sugawara, who sent a questioning look her way. 

Yachi tried her best to explain, though it came out as more of a garbled mess of stuttered words than anything. The incident of a few days previous had been living in her mind all hours of the day, though she could only assume she was the only one of the two women who was so deeply affected by the interaction. In another life, that could have been the beginning of some meet-cute love story that Yachi would never admit she wanted so desperately. She could have offered to buy Shimizu a pastry in return for her help, then gotten her number, then fallen in love with her as much as Yachi was certain she could. Yachi had not wasted a moment of the past three days doing anything but mourning the loss of that life that she would never have. Something of this experience tainted her ability to tell Suga of the events- some sort of fear that the longing would taint her voice and he would recognize it and fire her, then tell everyone they knew that Yachi was nothing but a dirty homewrecker, which she couldn’t fully blame him for believing. After three horribly failed attempts at a structurally-sound sentence, she conceded, allowing Shimizu to take over the story. With a timid glance in the woman’s direction, Shimizu understood and picked up where Yachi had meant to leave off.

“Just a few days ago, I met Yachi at that coffee shop by the hospital. She spilled coffee on herself, so I helped with the burn. Speaking of, is it doing alright?” 

Yachi sighed in relief as Suga smiled fondly at Shimizu, accepting the explanation without any question or jealousy- which, in retrospect, was a strange assumption for Yachi to hold as his reaction. Sugawara was kind and trusting, and in no world would he have gotten upset over a brief, platonic exchange in a cafe. In no world would he fire her, in no world would he spread the rumor that Yachi planned to homewreck, because that was not the type of man Sugawara Koushi was. Yachi reminded herself of these facts, breathing just deeply enough to regain her emotional balance, but not enough to draw any attention to the obvious distress that this situation was already causing her.

“The burn is okay,” Yachi replied simply. “I’ve been doing the best I can to maintain it, and you were right, it doesn’t hurt much anymore!”

Shimizu studied the wedding planner briefly, a habit Yachi duly noticed the woman had. Without an understanding of the inspection, Yachi blushed under the gaze of the beautiful soon-to-be bride in front of her. 

“Could I see it, to make sure it’s alright?” Shimizu asked plainly.

Yachi coughed slightly, startled. “W-what? You want me to-to show you my burn right now? Here?”

Shimizu seemed thoroughly confused by the questions for a moment, but quickly her eyes seemed to light up with some sort of understanding of Yachi’s reaction. “Ah, I understand. It is cold out here. I’m sorry, I’m used to talking about people’s injuries in my office. I’m always a little lost in the morning.”

Yachi nodded a few times, maybe an inappropriate amount for the situation, but she had few ideas of how to respond to the topic. Suga saved her the trouble by stepping in.

“It’s so funny that we’ve both already met you, Yachi- It must be fate!” 

If anyone else had said it, Yachi may have taken a nerve-filled double-take to make sure they weren’t mocking her. Sugawara, somehow, said it so genuinely, reinforced with his signature blinding smile, that Yachi couldn’t help but believe every word he said. There was no wonder why he was a kindergarten teacher, his entire manner of being was completely soothing- refreshing even. She wasn’t sure he could be intimidating if he tried. Yachi stood to join them, and they began the long walk around the mostly-empty park.

“I sure hope so, Sugawara-san!” 

“How many times have I told you- call me Suga.” He pouted playfully, almost scolding with his tone.

“Okay, Suga,” Yachi said, hesitant and slightly uncomfortable with the familiarity. “Do you have anything done or planned yet? It’s not expected, but I like to ask first, just so I know what I have to work with.”

Suga looked at Shimizu, almost pleadingly. Shimizu sighed in fond exasperation. “Suga knows nothing about wedding planning. I’ve sent out save-the-dates and invites, and booked a location, chosen a date- it’s in late June, I hope that’s alright.” When Yachi nodded in confirmation, Shimizu continued. “Beyond that, there isn’t much to go off of. I prefer more muted tones, if that does anything.”

Yachi took some comfort in that. “Believe me, that is a lot more than most couples have when I first get to them. If you could send me the reservation information, I’d appreciate it! Other than what you have, there are the main planning things- wedding attire, cake, catering, and floral arrangements. -and the smaller things like color schemes and music that we can talk of in more detail later. I have go-to places for most of the important things, unless you have something in mind.”

Shimizu and Suga exchanged a look of verification before Shimizu responded to the half-question. “We don’t have any prior information, in all honesty. I trust your options would be better than anything we’d find.” 

Yachi beamed at the subtle praise. “Okay! First, the wedding dressmaker I usually suggest is Alisa Haiba of Something New Bridal. Her designs are elegant and nothing too expensive, if that’s fitting to your tastes. If you’d like, I could schedule an appointment before we meet next.”

“I will message my bridal party- I’m sure they’d be free pretty soon. I’m usually the busiest of the bunch. I’ll send you the next convenient time for everyone as soon as possible.”

“That’s perfect, thank you! Okay, next on the list is the cake. I have connections to Seijoh bakery, specifically the owner, Oikawa Tooru. He’s very good at what he does, and I’m sure you’d find something you’d like there. If all sounds well, I can schedule a cake-tasting appointment for whenever you’re both available.”

Sugawara faltered at that, face expressing some confusion with an undertone of scorn. “Oikawa Tooru? Like the Oikawa Tooru? Grand king of high school volleyball? Surprising that he found something else to do with his life.”

Yachi was almost startled by the insult, but recognized that she really shouldn’t be surprised at this point. She was constantly surrounded by a suspicious number of people whose teenage lives revolved heavily around their high school volleyball careers. Though definitely a beyond-strange coincidence, she had long given up being confused by the occurrence. 

“I almost forgot that you played volleyball with Yamaguchi! Oikawa injured his knee not too long after high school, so he moved on to something else to be worryingly dedicated to,” Yachi joked, hoping Sugawara would be receptive, leaving behind his current annoyance. “He really is talented, and hopefully less of whatever he was when he was in high school. I can pick someone else if it bothers you!”

In truth, Oikawa was intensely enthusiastic about having ‘Mr. Refreshing’ at his bakery. He had gone on about how if Yachi didn’t suggest his bakery to the couple, he’d disown her as his friend and movie-buddy. While Yachi didn’t believe him for a second, she knew his entertainment with the idea was true, and she figured it wouldn’t do much harm to indulge him this once.

Sugawara smiled reassuringly, dropping all previous hints of his high school grudge. “No, no! I think it would be interesting to see him again, honestly!”

“Okay,” Yachi hesitated, fearing the effortless way Sugawara’s mood changed and ignoring the slight glint she saw in his eye. “Then, I’d say we’re ready to move on.”

-

A little further than halfway through the tree-lined path of the park, a desperate buzzing sound interrupted the comfortable wedding conversation. Shimizu patted her pockets, slight concern lacing the lines between her eyebrows. She pulled out her phone, a newer model from what Yachi gathered, and the worry in her face only deepened, mixing with what might have been a slight disappointment. 

“It’s the hospital,” she informed Yachi and Suga simply.

Suga’s face showed only understanding, perhaps a side-effect of years spent by Shimizu’s side, but likely more because of his considerate nature. Yachi, on the other hand, had fully forgotten Shimizu’s occupation, despite its heavy relevance in their first meeting. It made sense in a way, for Shimizu to be a doctor. There was something undeniably elegant and formal about her demeanor. 

Yachi looked down at her phone to check the time. Though briefly sidetracked by the text she’d received from Oikawa after she’d hung up on him, (saying only ‘if you hate me just say that.’ with an indecipherable kaomoji at the end), she noticed that they were a little over thirty minutes into the hour-long appointment. All of the important stuff was out of the way, so if Shimizu left now, there would be no harm in ending early. Yachi already had both of their contact information, so she supposed everything else would just have to be handled over messages.

“You leave,” Sugawara said suddenly, surprising Yachi out of her thoughts. “I’ll stay with Yachi and finish everything up!”

Yachi hadn’t expected his eagerness to stay. She, of course, didn’t mind finishing the hour- it would be quite useful to get to know the couple, so she said as much. 

Shimizu bowed deeply, a show of gratitude toward Yachi that she didn’t expect. She flinched a little at the action, but blushingly said her goodbyes as Shimizu gave Suga a kiss on the cheek then walked purposefully toward the main street. Yachi watched her leave, wondering what the problem could have been at the hospital, but was stopped from the line of thought by Suga laughing well-naturedly.

“Don’t worry too much Yachi.” He nudged Yachi’s arm softly, as if to get her attention. “There are always things going on at the hospital, I’m sure it’s nothing too horrible. I could practically see your worry developing!”

“Sorry,” Yachi apologized sheepishly, not knowing how else to respond. Suga smiled fondly at her response, but didn’t make a move to say anything, so Yachi took initiative. “Could you tell me about your wedding party?”

Suga beamed at the mention of those participating in his wedding, and Yachi couldn’t help but smile along with him. Infectious was a good word to describe Suga, Yachi thought. You couldn’t be sad after seeing such a smile.

“I’ll let Kiyoko tell you about her bridal party, she knows them better than I do, but I can just say they’re a handful. My groomsmen are Asahi, Yaku, and Daichi. Asahi is an old friend of mine; we’ve known each other since high school. He’s a fashion designer, which I never would have expected when we were younger, but he’s really talented. He’s actually dating one of the members of Kiyoko’s wedding party. Then there’s Yaku, who I presume you know?” Yachi gave an affirmative nod. “Well, we met through volleyball, then ended up roommates in university. He works as a pediatrician in the same hospital as Kiyoko, so he’s often pretty busy.”

“It sounds like a nice bunch! I met Yaku pretty briefly the other day, but he seemed very- well, stern.” Yachi shivered a little, remembering how he and Oikawa interacted.

“Really? He’s usually pretty polite when he’s first met people,” Suga considered, looking thoughtful.

“No, not stern with me! He was stern with Oikawa, I meant. It was a little scary.”

“In all honesty, I didn’t even know he knew Oikawa. He’s always busy with work and such, we haven’t caught up recently.”

“Oh, well they became roommates a few months back- I have no idea how it happened, but I’ve known Oikawa since I moved in.” The sun had fully risen now, shining down on the few people walking through the park. Yachi had always been more inclined to the cooler seasons, fall and winter specifically, but once spring came around, she always appreciated the extra warmth.

Sugawara looked pensive, processing the new information about one of his good friends. “Well, now I feel like a shitty friend! Maybe he didn’t tell me because of the rivalry-” Suga cut off suddenly, seeming to recall an unsavory memory of some kind, judging by the sour look on his face. “Come to think of it, I think he mentioned something about him and I might have huffed a little bit about the prospect of seeing him again. Oops!”

Sugawara, despite his words, did not seem remorseful in the slightest. In fact, he looked a little amused at the memory of having insulted Oikawa. Knowing how intense Yamaguchi and Tsukishima would get about their high school volleyball memories, (despite one usually being perpetually nonchalant and the other being generally uncompetitive otherwise), Yachi has come to accept that everyone who was in that circle would act similarly. Yachi had even had the chance to meet some professional players, courtesy of Yamaguchi.

“And the best man?” Yachi asked, steering the conversation back to the original topic.

Suga’s face seemed to brighten at the mention. “Ah, Daichi!” Yachi wanted to be confused by the use of what seemed like a first name, but she made the conscious decision to ignore whatever judgement she could have. “We’ve been friends since freshman year of high school, we’re super close. He moved to Tokyo last year and it’s been even easier to keep updated with him. He’s a firefighter, which fits because he’s always been one of those strong, protective types. He’s super hot, and super single if you’re looking- just saying. Like the strong, dark, and handsome type, not really tall, but a little taller than me? Anyways, I asked him to be my best man years ago- not specifically for Kiyoko, but just like if I got married. He’ll be a little busy too, but I promise you’ll be seeing a lot of him at the wedding, if nothing else. He helped me with the engagement and everything, I’m sure he’ll be there whenever he can be.”

Yachi fiddled with her fingers, discreetly trying to take in all she had just learned about Suga’s best man. She had heard the name in passing, someone she’s sure she’s heard from Yamaguchi or Tsukishima, maybe even Kuroo or Oikawa. From what she recalled, Sawamura was the Karasuno volleyball captain during Yamaguchi’s first year, a good guy, if not a little fatherly. While Yamaguchi was widely knowledgeable about general Karasuno gossip from back in the day, he had not said much about Sawamura- she wasn’t sure whether it was because he was a largely unproblematic person, or because a good majority of Yamaguchi’s gossip came from the guy’s best friend. Yachi figured it was most likely to be a good mixture of both, considering the fact that even Tsukishima spoke of the man with a decent amount of respect. They had never met, likely because he had apparently been living outside of Tokyo until quite recently, but Yachi had seen pictures of their team. From Sugawara’s description and the jersey numbers, Yachi was certain she knew which he was.

“He sounds… nice!” Yachi said, unsure of what else to tell him. As someone who was uninterested in men, it was completely possible- if not plausible- that she could be shown a picture of a very, very attractive man and only be able to say ‘He has kind eyes?’ Given that fact, and given this situation, she was doing the best she could.

“Oh, you’re a lesbian?” Sugawara asked kindly. Yachi blanched, thinking maybe she had spoken her thoughts aloud, but Suga spoke again before she could descend into further humiliation. “Oh no, I’m sorry that was rude! I just meant that was a very ‘I could not be interested if I tried’ response to me propositioning my friend to you. No problem with that, obviously! I know a bunch of gay people like, uh, Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Hinata, Kageyama- I’m embarrassing myself aren’t I?”

Yachi grimaced a little at the tangent, but responded authentically, “Only a little! It’s okay, I understand, I do that type of thing all the time. Anyway, how did you and Shimizu meet?” Yachi changed the topic, with what she hoped was some semblance of tact. If Suga thought the transition was uncomfortable, he didn’t say or show so.

“Oh, it’s not so romantic,” Suga lamented. “I’m a kindergarten teacher, so accidents happen sometimes- it’s one reason why Yaku and I stayed in touch, sometimes I have to stop by with a kid to get stitches or check on a kid that’s sick. So one of my students had fallen and we thought he might have broken his arm. His parents were a little tied up, so I offered to meet them at the hospital to make things easier. I get there and I’m going into the doctor’s office with this child and I’m fully expecting Yaku, but this gorgeous woman comes in instead. Thank God Yaku was out that day, because I had a good conversation with her and ended up becoming friends. Everyone kept telling us how we looked so good together, how well we’d work together, so we were like okay, let’s date. We were together for years when we were like, well might as well get hitched, you know? So here we are.”

“That all sounds very happenstance!” Yachi replied, not knowing what else to say. From how he described it, you’d almost think they didn’t care one way or the other, which was ridiculous. They were lovely together, kind, civil. They looked at each other with smiles and shining eyes, gave kisses on the cheek when they left- they seemed like the picture of a happy engaged couple; not insanely passionate, but definitely committed, definitely content.

“Isn’t it always?” Suga said, smiling, though it seemed a little strained, a little like the question wasn’t as rhetoric as he wanted it to be. Yachi smiled back at him, hoping he wasn’t expecting her to answer. It would be uncomfortable if he was because, in all honesty, Yachi wasn’t sure. Their story was like anyone else’s, but it seemed that life was moving their relationship along more than they were. 

Yachi didn’t comment on it. Suga didn’t ask anymore questions, rhetoric nor expectant.

They walked in an uncomfortable sort of silence. The trees that stood on either side of the park seemed to lean into them, shielding them from the sun and the wind, making the silence more evident than Yachi was happy with it being. She didn’t usually have trouble with small-talk, but she could feel Suga thinking, like he had questions she knew she wouldn’t be able to answer. She kept her eyes on her feet and walked until the trees started to clear up, more loosely planted than before.

Suga spoke first, voice full of his usual enthusiasm like nothing had ever happened. “I told you I work as a kindergarten teacher, so let me introduce you to one of my favorite topics: weird shit that kids say!”

Yachi smiled, mostly relief, but some excitement for the entertaining conversation he had started, “Please, do tell!”

“Okay, so we were talking about love in the household- some new sort of discussion to make sure all the students are in healthy situations -and I asked how their parents would speak to each other around the house, what they call each other, like terms of endearment, right? And this one girl turns to me, the biggest grin on her face, and says ‘my daddy calls my mom a fucking whore!’ just straight up! Yeah, so we had a talk with her parents that day.”

Laughter filled the air in the final few minutes of their walk, much more palatable than the previous air of discomfort that had been between the two. Yachi still feared the brief moment of uncertainty that she had sensed in Suga, knowing that if a couple was doubtful so far from the wedding date, there was a higher opportunity for a late-cancellation of the wedding. It always made Yachi apprehensive to start with, but she had a feeling she was not getting out of this wedding. There were too many strings that overlapped with her life, she would end up having to acknowledge it either way, and somehow she felt attached to this endeavor in one meeting. She would put this past both her and Suga, she would hope that it was jitters. Usually when she planned weddings, it was nothing more than a brief confusion or insecurity, one that would be solved before the set date. She prayed it would be true this time. She wanted this to work out, if only because she liked both Suga and Kiyoko as people- if anyone deserved to be happy, it would surely be the woman who stopped to clean a stranger’s wound in the middle of her break and the man who frequently tried to accommodate the person he hired just in the first meeting.

When they reached the bench they had begun at, the very one where Yachi had listened to Oikawa whine, Suga smiled at her like the sun incarnate. “I’m really glad we got you as our planner!” He beamed.

Yachi couldn’t help but return his energy with her own bright smile, “I’m glad I got you as my client! My last couple was,” she thought for a moment, trying to think of a word to describe the disastrous couple without being too unkind. “Boisterous, I think.”

“Is that your nice Yachi word for obnoxious?” Suga replied, his smile still firmly in place.

“Have you ever met Daishou Suguru?” Yachi asked, fully intending the question curiously.

“Oh, he’s a cunt! I’m sure that sucked,” Suga said nonchalantly, though laughing at the way that Yachi startled a bit at his wording.

“I mean this in the kindest way possible, but whoever pegged you as motherly really did not have a conversation with you!”

“I’ve always thought the same thing!” Suga laughed. “Well, I do need to get going. Bye bye, Yachi, I’ll be in touch!”

Yachi waved back respectively, watching him go for a moment before looking at her phone as a crutch. Oikawa’s text from nearly an hour ago still remained, but nothing new had popped up in the past half-hour she’d been walking with Sugawara. 

He was different from how she’d perceived him the first time they met- still soft, but not as innocent as she would have thought he’d be. She’d never expected the kindergarten teacher to have a mouth on him, but she obviously wasn’t the best at gaging personalities from the first impression. She thought he was good for Shimizu, but then thought that was stupid. She barely knew the woman, and even if she did, she wouldn’t be in any place to decide how well her own fiancé fit with her. She had slipped into this mindset where she thought she knew Shimizu better than she really did, just based on the fact that she had a slight, repressed crush on the doctor. She felt guilty but made the conscious decision not to blame herself- Kuroo even said it himself: she had that effect on everyone. So, if she thought of her sky-like eyes a bit too much while they messaged about plans; if she remembered her touch in the bathroom a bit too vividly; if she lingered too much on how lovely her voice was- who was she to judge herself. 

She would get over it soon, she hoped. Quite desperately, she prayed to God, who she’d never quite trusted, that she would forget these feelings long before the wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have very many agendas i am pushing in this fic; this chapter includes firefighter daichi (bc fuck 12) and anti-sugamama propaganda.  
> also i thought it was valuable to mention that i am an aihara simp and i think she is way too smart to be dealing with oikawa's bullshit <3


End file.
